The case of the confused doctor
by anotherlife
Summary: John is confused. Royally screwed, about to sign divorce papers, completely in love, but mostly confused. Who is this stranger so desperate to get hold of Mycroft? What the hell has Sherlock been up to in Germany? Why is no one telling him anything? And most importantly how is he meant to tell his genius flatmate that he loves him? Johnlock - rating may change. Set after series 2


Disclaimer: No matter how many stars I seem to wish upon I don't own Sherlock and I'm not dating Benedict Cumberbatch

AN: Set after season 2, so expect spoiler for all episodes.

Summary: John is confused. Royally screwed, about to sign divorce papers, completely in love, but mostly confused. Who is this stranger so desperate to get hold of Mycroft? What the hell has Sherlock been up to in Germany? Why is no one telling him anything? And most importantly how is he meant to tell his genius flatmate that he loves him?

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**The case of the confused doctor**

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"Your back then?" John asked as looked down at Sherlock who was lying across the sofa, fingers entwined resting against his chin in what the doctor had long ago dubbed his _thinking_ pose. A slight tilt of the head was all the response John received. "I take that to mean that you didn't find what you were looking for." He moved through to the kitchen and went about making a cup of tea. "Well you were only doing it for Mycroft so it can't be all bad. Not like you have a client to let down, just your brother and you can calm him by just buying him a cake or something. I mean you only took the case because you were bored right?" No response, not that he expected one. "Mrs Hudson said that someone came over looking for you earlier. Maybe they have something interesting for you? Can't hurt to check, she might have got a number or something." He looked in the fridge and sighed. "Could you not have thought to pick up milk on your way back?" He asked shaking his head. "What was it you were even doing in Germany anyway?" He popped his head back round into the living room but Sherlock was gone. Frowning he went back to making his cup of tea. Just brilliant, the genius had only just got back from being away for a week and he was gone again.

It was an hour later that his phone went off.

_Case Holland Park. SH_

He was being summoned. Typical, just as his favourite TV show was about to start. But he still got up from his chair and went to gather his stuff. Best not keep him waiting, he'd only make Johns life hell for it later.

Sherlock was in a foul mood. It was definitely up there in the top five of bad moods John had seen him in. The temptation to hit him hard with something and knock him out was nearly overwhelming, but John just took deep breath after deep breath fighting the urge. Less than a minute later he'd had enough and was outside by the police lines standing a little way away from Sgt Donovan. The two didn't talk, they didn't make eye contact. Things had been strained between them since t_he events that we do not speak of_,and even worst since Sherlock's sudden re-emergence into the land of the living six months ago. Not that it really bothered John, having Sherlock back was worth not talking to anyone again, including the soon to be ex-Mrs Watson.

What was he thinking marrying her anyway? Sure she was pretty and sweet. The perfect girl next door type, the kind you would have no problems taking him to your parents. But that was it Mary Watson nee-Mortsan was just ordinary. And who wanted ordinary when you could have midnight chases? Bewildering mysteries? Who would want ordinary when you could have Sherlock? Ridiculous, rude, infuriating Sherlock, who never cleaned up, never bought any milk but always, always came home, came back to John. God he was turning into a soppy fool. He was meant to be mad at the man for being such a git, for disappearing for a week and failing to communicate, for being his usual berkish self. Except that's why he couldn't stay mad, because it was Sherlock being Sherlock. Thinking that John came to the conclusion, not for the first time, that he was royally screwed. Royally screwed and completely in love.

"John Watson." A voice called to his right. He turned to see a young woman, probably late teens, twenty at a push.

"Yes, can I help?"

"I need to speak to Sherlock." she said. Her eyes darted about the place as though to double check the man himself hadn't appeared at the sound of his name before settling on John. They were filled with sadness and worry. "Can you get him for me?"

"I'm afraid he's kind of busy right now." His eyes flicked to the police tape that separated them. "He's with Detective Lestrade."

"It's important." Her voice gave tell of urgency, but she remained composed. "I need to speak with him."

John gave her a sympathetic look. "I really can't disturb him. Maybe you could give me a number and tell me what you need and I can pass it on for you?"

"I can't... I don't..." She seemed to be struggling with her words now, "He's going to kill me for this," she muttered to herself under her breath, "I'm not meant to even be here. I just..." She swallowed hard, "God help me you live with the bastard so he must trust you enough." She was speaking to John now. "I need you to get him for me now John Hamish Watson. I need you to get Sherlock for me because I can't get hold of Mycroft."

He wasn't sure what shocked him most the fact this stranger knew his middle name, or that she had brought Mycroft into the conversation. Either way she was clearly getting more distressed by the minute. "Look I'm sure Mycroft is just busy, but if you wait here I'll see if I can get Sherlock for you, okay?" She nodded and John made his way back towards the crime scene.

Sherlock was gone. According to Greg he had left a few minutes previous muttering something about Germany under his breath that had made no sense to anyone. Even John who knew where he'd been the last week couldn't make out what relevance it had to the murder of Dominic Harrington, son and heir of Sir William Harrington. But Sherlock was Sherlock so he supposed there had to be a link somewhere. In fact didn't he read in a newspaper once about a Harrington who worked for the government? Maybe that was the link, that the man knew Mycroft and was tied up to this whole Germany thing. Well that didn't matter right now.

He made his way back to the young woman and told her that his flatmate had already left.

"You can call him though, let him know I'm here?" she asked.

"He doesn't really check his phone during cases. I'll be lucky if he comes home tonight. I am sorry." He told her and he genuinely was, he felt sympathy for her.

"But you don't understand!" Her hands were tearing at her hair. "Mycroft won't answer his phone and I shouldn't be here! I shouldn't be here, but I am and I can't get hold of Mycroft and I need him! I need him John and he won't answer because I'm not calling from my phone. But I can't call from my phone because I had to chuck it in the Spree so they couldn't track it, so they wouldn't know I was leaving, that I have left."

John felt a bit overwhelmed in the face of an almost hysterical stranger.

"I can erm... I can call Mycroft for you if you want?" he said, bemused by the whole thing. What teenager would want to get hold of Mycroft of all people? "I mean I've got his number if that's any help." He supplied.

A smile over took her face. "You could? You just need to tell him to come get me is all. I've walked past god knows how many CCTV camera, but I can't get hold of him. I even went to Bakers Street!"

Well if he was in doubt before he was sure now that this stranger definitely knew Mycroft. Walking past cameras trying to get his attention? She must know him and be desperate to speak with him. Although he couldn't help but worry there was a reason that Mycroft wasn't responding. But to solve that one he would need to know who the hell she was, and she really didn't look like she was in the mood for sharing. Still he pulled out his phone, took a few steps away from her and called the seldom used number in his phonebook labelled _Interfering Twat._

Surprisingly it was answered after only one ring.

"Good evening Doctor Watson," came the voice.

"Mycroft, I have someone here who seems desperate to get hold of you."

"I am aware," was the reply, "however I cannot be seen with her, or even speak with her. There is too much happening and I need for her to remain as distanced as possible. The silly girl shouldn't even be here. I do not suppose she has indulged you with any tales of how she came to be in London?"

"No, she just seemed desperate to speak to Sherlock or yourself." John was becoming thoroughly confused by the whole thing. "You don't fancy telling me who she is do you?"

"That is on a strictly need to know basis I'm afraid Doctor Watson. All that you need to be aware of is that she may very well be in danger and that it is –"

"Oh she's already told me she's in danger and how she had to chuck her phone to stop being tracked." John interrupted, in no mood for Mycroft's desire to keep things from him.

"She said that but no mention of how she came to London?"

"No, just that she threw her phone in the Spree – " John paused for a moment. "The Spree is in Germany."

"That is correct."

"She doesn't by any chance have anything to do with what Sherlock has been doing this last week does she?"

"I am afraid I cannot tell you."

"What does a – " he looked over his shoulder at her again, assessing her, "a twenty year old have to do with Sherlock being in Germany and why is she so desperate to get hold of you?" he asked.

"Seventeen Doctor Watson, she is seventeen."

"That's even worse! What is a seventeen year old doing travelling from bloody Berlin to London on her own in order to contact you?"

"I'm afraid I cannot tell you. However I do suggest the two of you make your way to Bakers Street and see whether my brother is able to assist you." With that he hung up leaving John even more confused than before. And had he imagined it or had Mycroft being pleading with him just then?

"He thinks his phone is being hacked. He doesn't trust the connection." The cause of John's current headache, had made her way over to him. "What does he want me to do?" she asked. She looked resigned to the fact Mycroft wouldn't be making an appearance.

"Apparently we are to make our way to Bakers Street and annoy Sherlock into helping us." He supplied.

She nodded and began walking in the direction of the nearest tube station.

"I'm Andrea by the way," she called over her shoulder. "But everyone calls me Andi."

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AN: I've been thinking about writing this for a while. I'm not going to be too long, just a few chapters, but it make take a few or so between updates.


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